"I've just never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade."
Anne resisted the urge to sigh heavily, knowing that it would be misconstrued and entirely inappropriate given the circumstances. It was just such a male thing to say, and a male who had been lucky enough to have been born to a family that could afford said sword, and the training to become a knight.
A woman knew all about facing foes with no weapon other than her wits, even if Anne too had been privileged enough to begin training with physical weapons as a child. And her mother had made sure she never forgot how lucky she was, both to be born to their station, and to be born to a family that encouraged all of their children to learn the physical arts if they wished.
Perhaps it was callous of her, but after Howe's treachery, after a night of more bloodshed and loss than she could think of without so much pain it overwhelmed her, it was hard to be patient with Jory's fears. He'd agreed to this, they all had, for whatever reasons were theirs, and it was far too late for nerves. She wanted to have this done, one way or another, and Daveth's words on the necessity of their actions were entirely true.
Stopping the Blight was imperative, more important than anything. It was the only reason she was here, instead of in the wilds searching for Fergus and the hope that she still had family left alive.
It was no time for second thoughts.
But Jory could not hear her thoughts, did not share her knowledge, and after Daveth fell, his fear drove him to his death on Duncan's blade.
Anne did not hesitate when offered the cup, undeterred by the blood of her fellow recruit on Duncan's hands. If she died, she joined her loved ones. If she lived, she would fulfill her parents' dying wish and help stop the blight so she could avenge her family. Either way, she was unafraid of what was to come.
There was pain, and a vision of a creature that would fill her with terror if she hadn't already been numb.
After the pain faded, they welcomed her to their order. She was once again the lone survivor and she felt weary bitterness at the thought that such a title was her fate.
Weary bitterness that faded into her earlier callous indifference as Alistair handed her an amulet to remember the loss of her companions. Daveth's death was easier to mourn, someone who'd understood the need and had been willing to pay the cost. Jory's she would mourn out of guilt rather than true grief, guilt and regret that they could have had one more grey warden to help them in their quest.
And neither of their deaths registered in the slightest against her other losses, or the burning need to keep moving, keep fighting, so that she did not succumb to any grief.
She would remember her dead, all of them, and she needed no trinket for that.